Nike
by kloudklocvalley
Summary: It is a practice sword, wooden, but heavy to her tiny hands, and still a sword. She starts giving it a few swings, following nothing but the ghostly pull of her instincts. Pyrrha-centric.


One of Pyrrha's earliest memories is of picking up a sword.

It is a practice sword, wooden, but heavy to her tiny hands, and still a sword. She starts giving it a few swings, following nothing but the ghostly pull of her instincts.

 _This_ way, the sword tells her, then _that_ way. Then over _there_. Turn. Over _here_. _Down below_.

It comes to her like clockwork, and she slashes down all her imaginary opponents with beautiful ease.

A stray instructor watches, then goes to talk to her father.

* * *

It is years later when she gets offered to learn another weapon. And she's still at an age when she doesn't quite know what the stares from the other boys and girls (all taller and bigger than she is, but so, so easy to fall) mean.

Before her stands a different instructor, dragged over by her swordsmanship one. A large bear of a man, with a grizzled beard and mane of hair like a dark lion. His face is a stony, scarred mask frozen in a scowl and she tries not to cower before him.

"It's called a spear. Gonna try?"

After a moment of hesitation, she nods. She vows to never hesitate in front of him again when she catches a twitching eyebrow. The instructor throws a practice spear to her feet.

He doesn't start with basic forms like the kind sword instructor did at first. The first thing he does is to grunt at her to come at him.

By the end of the day, she's battered and bruised and drawing the derisive laughter of all the boys and girls in the grounds. The first hot pricks of tears sting at her eyes before she sees the instructor give a grumbling nod in reluctant approval.

She realises she's the only student he has, and feels her back straighten.

* * *

When she hears someone compliment the colour of her hair, Pyrrha starts growing it out. Her father had it cut after she'd started attending the swordsmanship school, claiming it would get in her way, but none of her instructors pick on it, so she doesn't worry.

Her father does. They talk until he caves in.

"Did some boy catch your eye or something?" he sighs. Her mother simply smiles and Pyrrha reddens, refuting his words with an embarrassed mumble.

It _did_ have to do with boys, but it's more in vain hope that half those stares would switch to something akin to admiration (the 'something akin to' was very important to her modest mind). And for a short while, it works, and even some of the girls find themselves staring.

She tries not to feel too flattered for her own good.

* * *

The first time she gets to hold a real steel-and-leather sword, she's surprised by how heavy it is. But the moment her hands curl around the handle, the ever-present whisper in her muscles sing louder. She gives the blade a swing—one more, another, and she's dancing through the forest of dummies—until she can't stop smiling.

It's the happiest moment in her life, followed shortly by the worst when she realises that the cool envy of the other students have grown. The instructors realise this, and switch her to another class on the timetable, and just like with the sword and spear, ten year old Pyrrha quickly learns how to fake a smile. Her new class treats her better.

Later that night, she holds the sword again and practices until she feels dead on her feet. She imagines cutting down every frigid stare given her way and goes to bed with her mind groaning at the seams with blood and angry mutters.

The next morning, she feels disgusted with herself and spends an extra ten minutes in the bath.

At breakfast, she tells her father she wants to learn martial arts.

* * *

Her grades suffer a little. Pyrrha's an intelligent girl, but even her prized self-discipline bends before the desire to hold her sword and spear, instead of sitting down to scribble over numbers and words.

Her father is dissatisfied and her mother concerned (and a bit more of both each). But after a meeting with her teacher, they ask her what she wants to be when she grows up.

She blinks, and her eyes fall on a pamphlet pinned to the notice board in the staff room, welcoming all fighters to Sanctum Academy.

 _Welcoming_. Her hopes rise.

A few days later, she tugs at her parent's arms.

"I want to be a Huntress."

* * *

Her instructors snort when her parents ask whether she's ready for Sanctum or not.

"I'd be surprised if she wasn't already ready for core Huntress training," her sword instructor laughed. Pyrrha tries not to feel too happy when a flash of pride gleams even in her father's eyes. "Besides, Sanctum is a recruiting school, Mr and Mrs Nikos. Most children her age wouldn't have even touched a practice sword before."

She still insists on teaching her how to use a shield in conjunction with her sword and spear before she leaves for Sanctum. She finds the combination of her kindly, demure sword instructor and haughty spear instructor highly amusing, but doesn't dare laugh in front of the latter. Inevitably, she lets out a tiny giggle and gets a painful rap on her elbow for it.

She's the only one in the entire school who has two instructors together in the training grounds and the stares pile up, but her excitement is well enough to give her the strength to ignore them.

She's going to be a Huntress, standing among equals who's eyes will look with challenge instead of chilled envy.

Pyrrha starts going to bed with a smile.

* * *

One day, her instructors don't meet her in the training grounds. She finds her spear instructor, who is haggling over a broken water purifier, and asks him what's going on.

"We don't have anything left to teach you anymore," he grumbles. " _Infernal machine_ —go to Ground Six and spar with the veteran students. Use whatever you like."

She goes to Ground Six and feels more of the cold stares than she had ever wanted. Picking up her spear and shield, she tries not to blush when the veteran students—on the cusp of mastery—snort at her as she enters the field, exchanging sceptical looks. They are all bigger than her, more muscular and experienced with their art.

She leaves the training ground without a scratch on her person and a carpet of limp students layered over the earth. She goes back to her instructors and asks for a sparring session.

Pyrrha had never felt happier than the moment her instructors effortlessly disarmed her with a twitch of their weapons. She didn't last much longer even with her training in martial arts.

She was only just beginning to grow, and Sanctum would give her the opportunity to.

* * *

Pyrrha's father is strict and even more so on himself, but he makes time in his schedule for her first day at Sanctum. Her mother quietly tells her how he'd glared at his secretary like a basilisk when he was told he had a meeting for today. The secretary had run home in tears after rescheduling.

As she tries very hard not to laugh, her father grumbles and leads them into the sparsely decorated entrance ceremony.

"You'll be alright?" he asks her in a rare show of tenderness, although his expression and voice still remain blank from years of professional self-mastery. The ceremony ends, and the man on the podium immediately calls for students to check their scrolls for their class assignment.

She blinks, pausing, then looks around. Many of the students are tense with jitters for the first day. They're unassuming, footsteps unpractised, postures awkward. But there are a few who stand out, bodies taut with confidence and martial discipline that Pyrrha has grown so used to identifying. A handful catch her eye and shoot her wary, but defiant looks back.

She feels a genuine smile tug at her lips, a warmth gathering beneath her sternum. She looks back up to her father, a new fire lit, and nods.

He nods back, and for a moment, she thinks she sees a flicker of a proud smile on his face.

She starts her first day in Sanctum with a skip in her step.

* * *

 **Note** : Poor secretary-chan.

Although I've taken some liberties with Pyrrha's, err, 'power level' as it's called (then again, I've taken liberties with her back-story with this, I guess. Maybe we're finding out this volume?), please feel free to point out anything you find awkward or wrong in the content or grammar (muh Engrish). Influenced very much by snapshot format stories, so thank you, all you wonderful writers out there. You've no idea how much I enjoy them.

Also, I've no idea how a swordsmanship apprenticeship goes, but I'm assuming you didn't get trusted with a giant, pointy, bladed thing until you're rather proficient and well-disciplined enough.

Last thing to note is that I wanted to put in which age Pyrrha is with each snapshot, but it was never specified at which age one enters trainee schools such as Signal or Sanctum, so I purposely left it ambiguous.


End file.
